


Arthur and the Six Knights and Merlin

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale AU with a Twist, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: Snow White AU.(In which Arthur is left in the woods by Gaius on the orders of the evil Queen Morgana, and comes across Merlin and six faithful knights.)





	Arthur and the Six Knights and Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really hope you enjoy this story :) The narrative style in this story is different from my other fics, I tried to make it resemble that of an actual fairy tale ~~not because I'm inconsistent and making excuses or anything~~ but I hope you like it regardless!

**I.**

 

Once upon a time in the middle of summer, when heat blanketed the earth in pleasantly searing warmth, a queen sat in a bower, gazing out at the horizon. “Would that I had a child as fair as afternoon, with eyes as blue as periwinkles and hair as gleaming as the sun,” she said wistfully.

Uther Pendragon looked with devotion at his wife and made a silent promise.

Soon after, the queen had a son, who was as fair as afternoon, whose eyes were blue as periwinkles, and whose hair gleamed as the sun. The queen named him Arthur, and when he was born, the queen died.

The king, unable to bear his grief solitarily, took a consort the following year: the daughter of Gorlois, one of his friends. Her name was Morgana and she was beautiful, a gracious queen to all who saw her, but when she was alone her devious desires to usurp her new husband’s throne rushed to the forefront and she plotted to see him dead by her hand.

Her yearning to rule the kingdom of Camelot deepened by the day, and one night when the king trustingly swallowed the last of his wife’s sleeping draught, he shut his eyes and opened them never again.

And so Lady Morgana of Tintagel became the Queen Regent of Camelot.

* * *

**II.**

 

The queen ruled over Camelot with an iron fist in a velvet glove. She watched Arthur grow older, every bit as golden and blue-eyed as in Uther’s stories, when his wine had conjured up the love of his life in his mind.

Afraid that Arthur would soon challenge her for his rightful place, every week Morgana would rush back to her chambers and to her looking-glass would say,

“ _Magic mirror in my hand,_

 _who’s the autarch of this land?_ ”

And every week a creature within the looking-glass would shimmer into being, brush his meagre hair away from his brow and faithfully say,

“ _My queen, you are the ruler of this land._ ”

And the queen, upon hearing this, would have a peaceful night’s sleep. She continued to do so until Arthur grew ten winters old, and on the eve of his birthday the queen with her heart in her throat and the looking-glass in her palm whispered,

“ _Magic mirror in my hand,_

 _who’s the autarch of this land?_ ”

And Taliesin, for that was the name of the being within the mirror, reluctantly said,

“ _My queen, you are the sovereign, true,_

 _But Arthur is a thousand times worthier than you._ ”

For Taliesin was compelled by sorcery to utter nothing but the truth.

The queen fumed and raged, but Taliesin changed not one iota of his answer from then on.

Greed and envy flooded Morgana like a marsh whenever she looked her stepson’s way. Dread was a constant ringing in her ears as she felt her time as ruler slipping away like the last dregs of sand in an hourglass. When Arthur turned twelve and happily spouted lessons of strategy and the art of war at dinner, she could bear it no longer and called upon the court physician, Gaius.

“My lady,” said Gaius, bowing to her despite the frailty of his old age. He did not like or trust the queen, as he knew of her murderous deed and fretted over Arthur for it.

“Gaius, can I rely upon you to do my bidding without questioning my judgement?” asked Morgana, chewing on a chicken drumstick and drunk on mead.

“Of course,” replied Gaius, serving his beloved Camelot before himself.

“Take Arthur,” she commanded. “Take him into the forest and slay him, and bring me back his sword and his heart. It will be yours on my platter if you don’t succeed.”

Gaius nearly perished himself at the thought of having to kill his beloved prince, but he restrained his shivering before the evil queen and bowed again and left without daring to look back.

* * *

 

**III.**

 

Arthur Pendragon was a handsome, noble prince—clever and kind and merciful despite the best efforts of his stepmother. Of course he had realised what his herb-collecting trip entailed, but courageously walked Gaius into the forest regardless.

“Sire,” Gaius said, crouching before his prince in anguish. “I cannot do this. I could not live with myself were I to carry out that evil queen’s bidding.”

“You need not do anything of that sort,” said Arthur, only a child, twelve years old. “I will run away into the woods and never come back, and you can live out your days in peace.”

“You must return when you are of age,” Gaius entreated. “You are the true king of Camelot and she will have no sway over your person then.”

Arthur grew disturbed and his façade crumbled, and he collapsed beside Gaius.

“Whose heart will you convey back to her?” he whispered.

“If you could do me one last favour of finding a deer,” said Gaius, and Arthur, the exemplary prince and the most talented of huntsmen, dutifully found and slew a stag for Gaius with only his sword.

“Take this,” said Arthur, pressing the bloody weapon into Gaius’s hands. “Be well.”

“You too, my king,” said Gaius, and Arthur arose, wiped his tears and his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, and fled into the thick of the green.

* * *

 

The queen Morgana rejoiced when Gaius presented a bloody sword and the heart of its victim to her, and she had the latter for supper. Tranquilly she slept, and in the morning she arose and shut her useless looking-glass away.

* * *

 

Arthur was very cold. And he was very lonely, and very scared. He wandered in the forest for hours with only his drenched fur coat to warm him. He had no weapon anymore with which to find food, and so he starved and trekked through the wilderness and tried not to sob.

Snow began to fall in gentle flurries, slipping through the holes in the dense canopy. Arthur shivered when the first flake melted in his hair and feared for his sanity.

“Please,” he said, “Let me find shelter.”

And there must have been magic in the air, for only a minute later (or it could have been an hour or a day), when Arthur’s knees were knocking together and his boots were blocks of ice, a well-lit cottage materialised before him. Arthur stumbled over to the door somehow and pushed it open, crawling in, revelling in the blissful heat of a merry fire that chased all the cold away.

“Arthur!” he heard someone call, but it was too late for him to respond, as he fell unconscious in the next moment.

* * *

 

Arthur awoke to seven pairs of anxious eyes and a proffered bowl of soup. His regality defied his immediate alarm and he said, “I command you to tell me where I am.”

“You _command_ us, do you,” said one of the seven men staring down at him. “All right, Princess. You’re in a cottage you were never supposed to find, in a bed you were never supposed to lie in, and talking to people you were never supposed to meet.”

“I’m a prince,” said Arthur in a pretence of haughtiness, feeling very small. “And I found this place when I asked the forest for sanctuary. Who are you?”

“Gwaine,” said the man, smiling. He had fairly long black hair that refused to shine, and scruffy stubble decorating the lower half of his face. He seemed to be older than Arthur by at least fifteen years. All of them did, even the one holding the soup, who looked impossibly young despite the ancientness Arthur could see in his eyes.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” said Arthur.

“That you are,” said another of the men. “There’s no mistaking that hair.”

“Have some soup,” the impossibly young man said. “It’s chicken, your favourite.”

And indeed it was.

* * *

 

The seven men introduced themselves as Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Leon, Elyan, Mordred, and Merlin. They were knights errant who had banded together, they said, except Merlin, who was much better at sorcery than anything else.

They listened to Arthur tell his tale of betrayal with a sympathetic ear, and said he was more than welcome to stay with them as long as he helped them with their daily chores. Arthur readily agreed, but he was sure they wouldn’t have left him to withstand the looming forest alone again.

Every morning, Arthur was woken up by Merlin and served breakfast. Arthur didn’t think Merlin ought to; Arthur was a prince only in name now. But Merlin insisted, and Arthur was strangely helpless against Merlin’s earnest smile.

Every afternoon, the knights save Merlin would troop out of the house in search of something. They wouldn’t tell Arthur what they were looking for, they would only wave their fingers and say it wasn’t for little children to know, even though Arthur petulantly insisted he was thirteen now.

Despite all his protests, Arthur didn’t really mind being left behind. Merlin was Arthur’s favourite person, and Arthur quite had a feeling Merlin would rather sit with him and spring blue butterflies from his cupped hands all day than be with his old friends, anyway.

* * *

 

**IV.**

 

Years passed like a breeze rustling through leaves. Arthur grew taller and fitter and his jaw outlined itself in shadow against the sun. His hair curled on his nape and settled freely on his ears, but the two things that did not change about him were his eyes and his nature.

* * *

 

Arthur asked for lessons in swordplay and archery and other weaponry. The knights freely gave him their arms and hearts and souls.

Gwaine taught him to fight cleanly, without superfluous show. Percival taught him to use the brute force of his body. Leon taught him to show proper restraint, and Elyan to fight even beyond the last vestige of his strength. Mordred taught him to pinpoint weakness and aim true, Lancelot to fight with honour and courage, and Merlin—Merlin just stuck a foot out and tripped Arthur when he least expected it.

Arthur’s list of chores grew at his own request, as he had little else to do with his time. He joined Gwaine in their little garden, tending to vegetables and mushrooms, aided Lancelot and Leon in their daily hunt, chatted with Percival, Elyan, and Mordred as they dusted the mattresses and aired out their rooms. He helped Merlin cook, having found it in him to declare Merlin’s food inedible, if only to see Merlin smile. Merlin always laughed and set him to chopping onions.

* * *

 

Queen Morgana dreamt of a man one night, who had a gold crown on golden hair and sat on _her_ throne and condemned her to fire. Sheer terror overtook her as she awoke and hastened to her looking-glass, bringing it out. She rubbed away the dust on the surface and nearly shouted:

 _“Magic mirror!_ ”

Taliesin appeared, weary and frail. He had not been summoned in a long time, and the absence had nearly done away with him. The queen chanted:

“ _Magic mirror in my hand,_

 _who’s the autarch of this land?_ ”

Taliesin shuddered, and his gaze burned Morgana as he answered,

“ _In this room, you are, my queen,_

_But Arthur over the hills and across the woods is the rightful king, I ween.”_

The evil queen screamed in rage and shut the mirror away again, sleeping no more as jealousy and wickedness and conspiracy battled in her throat.

* * *

 

Arthur was twenty when he first defeated Lancelot, the best knight of them all, in swordplay.

“Ready to return to Camelot and take on the evil queen?” said Lancelot joyous on the ground.

Arthur stepped back, unsure. He looked at Merlin, who beamed at him with pride in his eyes.

Many a time he had implored them to journey to Camelot with him, be by his side if Arthur ever became king as he deserved. Each time he had been gently refused, told that the knights’ place was here in this forest, forever to search for something hidden from all of them. Even Merlin turned him down, but with the greatest pain.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said to Lancelot, spared a minute to help him to his feet, and spotted the shine fade from Merlin’s gaze as he dropped his borrowed sword and turned and ran.

* * *

 

“Arthur?” said Merlin, finding Arthur in his favourite hideaway. It was a cave in a hill, beside which a river gushed and flowed as if naiads frolicked all day in it. Arthur rested at the lip of the cave whenever thoughts of his old life in Camelot overwhelmed him, though he would always miss Merlin before too long and ask the trees and the birds for help finding his way back to him. (They would always, unerringly lead him straight to Merlin. Every path on the map of Arthur’s heart led to Merlin.)

Arthur liked everything about Merlin, from his untidy black hair to his eyes as blue as Arthur’s, from his calloused, work-roughened hands to the sharp wit he hid behind a mask of stupidity. Arthur’s heart ached and its beats sped up when he gazed at Merlin. Merlin was the only one who asked him about his childhood, about all the people whom Arthur had had to leave behind.

Now Arthur had a new set of people to desert, and Lancelot’s question had served only to remind him of that.

He didn’t want to go back to Camelot, cowardly as that might be.

He didn’t want to leave Merlin.

“Arthur,” said Merlin, right beside him, tenderly jostling him out of his musing.

Arthur said to Merlin, “I know I need to go. But why won’t you come with me?”

“I have no answer that will satisfy you,” whispered Merlin.

In response, Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin’s. His kiss had all the force of a waterfall and the crack of a thunderclap, the dizziness of an earthquake and the lilting song of a nightingale. Merlin eagerly framed Arthur’s face in his hands and returned the kiss, mumbling words of love into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur parted from Merlin and pulled his best friend into his arms.

“Why do you and the others never age?” he asked Merlin, who rested his head against Arthur’s chest, right over his heartbeat.

“Of course we age,” Merlin replied, but his voice turned shaky and he was quiet.

“No, you don’t,” said Arthur. “I am closer in age to you than I have ever been, and it is not a race to death that we run.”

“No, it isn’t, indeed, my lord,” said Merlin, and put Arthur’s hand to his own heart. “Isn’t it lovely, then? That I will love you forever, even after you surpass me and grow old and grey and wrinkled, and can’t stumble anywhere without a stick to lean on.”

Arthur stiffened. “Do you really feel that way for me?”

Merlin laughed. “Aeons have passed since the day I knew I loved you,” he began, and paused.

“One might even say it was destiny for us to meet,” he finished.

Arthur sighed. “Do you like to talk in riddles?”

“No, but I know a dragon who does,” said Merlin sagely, and closed his eyes and tucked himself into the hollow of Arthur’s embrace, against Arthur’s clavicles.

Arthur kissed the crown of Merlin’s head. Merlin’s hair was the softest down, the smoothest, most fragrant thing that Arthur had ever had the pleasure to sense.

“I am King Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur said, trying it out for the first time, tracing a circlet into Merlin’s scalp. “Sovereign of the kingdom of Camelot.”

Merlin sighed happily and said, “Do that again, it feels quite nice.”

And Arthur ran his fingers through Merlin’s hair again, and again, and again, until Merlin dozed off and Arthur’s content expanded, limitless.

* * *

 

**V.**

 

“Why do you have to leave with the rest of them?” said Arthur. “Why can’t I just come with you?”

“Because someone has to stay and look after the house,” said Merlin. “What if there were bandits?”

“I thought you said this cottage is sheltered by the forest’s magic?”

“…magical bandits.”

Arthur huffed. “Go on, then.”

Merlin kissed him, one brief touch of his mouth, and looked at him with stars in his eyes, even as the knights whooped and hollered behind him.

“Today we shall find what we have been searching for. Don’t go anywhere, not today,” he said. “You might not find your way back to the cottage if you leave.”

Arthur nodded.

“Go now, so you can come back sooner,” he said, shy to admit it so openly.

Merlin kissed him again, and ran off with the knights. Loneliness crept over Arthur in place of Merlin’s smile, and so he lay down in Merlin’s bed to wait until they all returned.

He might have even napped the whole day away, had someone not so insistently knocked on the door.

Arthur leapt up in a flash and flew to the door, unafraid but wary. Merlin had told him the house was impossible to find.

“Who’s there!” he called.

“Just an old lady trying to make a living,” wheezed someone through the wood. “I have trinkets and knickknacks to fill your hours with merriment.”

Arthur hesitated.

“Shall I come to the window if you wish not to let me in?”

“Yes, do that,” said Arthur against all common sense, and went over to the kitchen window.

He nearly recoiled in revulsion, but his long-forgotten princely bearing made him stand still as the most terrifying woman he had ever seen in his life came into view through the small square casement. She had grey hair streaked with white, the haggard face of cruelty, and a downturned mouth that reeked of evil. Yet Arthur did not turn her away, for he wished to see those trinkets, to perhaps buy one for Merlin.

“My, what a handsome prince you are,” the old lady said. “What’s your name?”

“Arthur,” said Arthur, for his innate kindness made him foolish.

“I have something just for you,” the woman said, rummaging her sack. “Ah, yes.”

She held out a silver circlet.

“This is said to show you the face of your true love the second you place it upon your head.”

“I already know my true love and his name is Merlin,” said Arthur. “I need no metal to remind me of him.”

“Very well,” said the woman, so obviously the evil queen Morgana in disguise, but whose cloaking magic was so powerful that Arthur was unable to perceive her for her real self. She brought out a brooch.

“Said to have belonged to the dead Queen Ygraine, and has her very sigil on it.”

“Impossible,” said Arthur, astonished. “I possess the original.” And he pulled out a leather string from under his tunic and showed the old crone the brooch pierced through it.

“Ah,” said the crone, and explained no further. “Then this is my last offering to you.”

She stuck a hand into her pack and brought out an apple.

“This is not a trinket,” said Arthur.

“No, but I am hungry and wish for company while lunching. Would you do me the honour of sharing my miserable fruit with me, O Prince?”

Arthur, ever gracious, took the apple from her and with his dagger made two neat halves of it.

“Royalty must eat the brighter part,” said the old lady, reaching for the greener side.

“Very well. Thank you for your generosity,” said Arthur, nodding at the crone, and took a bite of his apple and fell down unconscious; for the apple was poisoned and Morgana had achieved her fatal goal.

* * *

 

“ _Magic mirror in my hand,_ ” crowed the queen as soon as she was safe back at the castle. “ _Who’s the autarch of this land?_ ”

Taliesin appeared to Morgana and bowed. “ _My queen, you are the ruler of this land._ ”

And then he vanished and Morgana tossed the mirror away and was rapturous once more.

* * *

 

Merlin and the knights, when they ran their hands along the cracked boughs of the wood and let the shimmering leaves guide them back home, were shocked and dismayed to see their dear old cottage near-wrecked.

“Our enemy found us,” Percival whispered. “How?”

Merlin paid no heed to Percival’s words as he dashed into the wreckage of the house to find Arthur’s prone corse on the kitchen floor. A guttural cry erupted from his mouth and he fell to his knees beside his true love.

“No,” he said. “No, Arthur!”

Six ashen knights surrounded the grieving lover and knelt around him and his prince.

“It wasn’t meant to be this way,” Merlin wept, exquisite in his dolour.

Lancelot wrapped a reassuring arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“We shall build him a coffin and carry him to his destination,” he promised. “The lake.”

And so they did, hewing timber from sorrowful conifers and fashioning from it a long box.

Unable to bear the thought of Arthur’s beauty going unseen behind plain wood, Merlin turned the rough ligneous coffin into gleaming glass, so all souls who might stumble across Arthur’s resting place in the future would see the glory of the dead prince for themselves and languish for all that was lost with him.

The knights hefted the clear coffin carefully onto their shoulders and began their arduous trek to the lake. Merlin, with eyes sore and red, walked behind them, for it was his fate to forever follow Arthur in all his voyages.

Three days and three nights later, the waters of the cool lake lapped at the knights’ feet. Moonlight fell upon Arthur’s closed eyes, and he looked ethereal. Merlin lay across the glass, weak with grief.

“I failed,” he murmured to Arthur through the icy crystal. “Again. I am so sorry.”

Mordred stepped forward and examined the glow on Arthur’s face.

“In eternal sleep, let me repent for my trespasses in life,” he said, and passed a hand over the glass surface. He withdrew in surprise.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed. “Arthur’s condition is merely that of living death.”

Merlin turned his gaze, unshaken three days and three nights from Arthur, to Mordred.

“If you lie,” he began, and was answered with a resolute shake of Mordred’s head.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” said Gwaine, merry again.

Merlin looked at all six of his brethren in succession, and with glittering eyes lifted the lid of the coffin and kissed Arthur’s resplendent form on the lips.

* * *

 

Arthur convulsed, turning to one side, and spat the poisonous apple piece out of his mouth. Someone gathered him into his arms, dragging him out of that loathsome coffin, and held him.

“Merlin,” Arthur rasped.

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said into Arthur’s ear.

“My dearest Merlin,” Arthur said, and embraced him in return as the knights cheered.

* * *

 

“Your time has come, sire,” said Elyan, a while later. Arthur untwisted himself from Merlin and rose with Merlin to his feet.

“We have performed our duty to the utmost,” Leon said. “Now you must return where you rightfully belong.”

“Camelot?” asked Arthur.

“In a way,” Merlin said, smiling slightly.

“Lead on,” Arthur said, pulling away for just a second to clasp the arms of his knights. All of them knelt with tears in their eyes as Merlin grasped Arthur’s hand and stepped first into the purling waves of the lake.

“Merlin?” asked Arthur of Merlin, quiet in the moonlight and waist-deep in the lake.

“Do you trust me?” said Merlin, not turning back to look at him.

“Always,” said Arthur, and drowned with Merlin’s fingers fast around his own.

* * *

 

**VI.**

 

Arthur surfaced in a foreign land and a foreign time, in the most familiar person’s arms.

“You idiot,” gasped Merlin, the same as in the forest but different yet. “What foolish king eats an untested apple from a stranger?”

“I’ve kept you waiting,” sighed Arthur.

“More than a thousand years, you prat.”

“I’m sopping wet, do something,” said Arthur, and observed as with a blaze of Merlin’s golden eyes he was warm and dry again.

“I’ve missed you,” said Merlin, clinging to Arthur. “I’ll never let you go again.”

Arthur ran his fingers through Merlin’s hair.

“You can sleep now,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yes, Arthur,” said Merlin, and with another flash of his eyes they had a pallet to share at the edge of the lake.

Arthur kept vigil over Merlin’s slumber, and in the morning he revelled in Merlin’s elation once more.

* * *

 

“ _Magic mirror in my hand,_ ” said Morgana to the mirror. Taliesin appeared and twinkled at her.

“ _It is admirably done, my queen, and you are free to join Guinevere for evermore._ ”

The evil queen smiled, _remembered_ , and cared no more about anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know what you thought! <3


End file.
